Together or Not at All
by ParisNeverEnded
Summary: Sherlock realises he cannot defeat Moritaty's network alone, so he turns to the only person he knows and trusts (only slightly) but it comes with complications. Adlock Set during the Hiatus. T but will be M in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: New York

**Together or Not at All.**

Set during the Hiatus. Sherlock realises he cannot defeat Moritaty's network alone, so he turns to the only person he knows and trusts (only slightly) but it comes with complications. Adlock

**A/N It could be seen as a sequel to ****'****Grief is the Downfall of Sentiment****' ****and was originally planned to be the second chapter. Instead, it****'****s a multi-chapter story documenting the Hiatus and what I wished Sherlock had really been doing****…****or to put it indelicately **_**who.**_** I****'****m infamously horrendous at updating, but I****'****ll try my best. I have a lot of the story planned and written so I guess it won****'****t be that horrendous though. I am very insecure about my writing, particularly as I love reading lots of other people****'****s incredible stories that are far superior to my own, but I am so in love with Adlock and writing is my way of recovering from personal issues, so I decided against my initial wishes to publish this here. It may be OOC and it may not be everybody****'****s taste but I tried my hardest. **

_**Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me.**_

He doesn't realise where he's going until he's halfway up the stairwell.

**I****'****m not dead. Let****'****s have dinner - SH **

The text comes through at midnight, she hadn't been sleeping, she rarely could these days. Instead, she was curled up in the corner of her sofa nursing a glass of wine and flicking through files. It had been 2 months since she'd returned to New York from London, her heart sealed off, no chance of any reminder of the great detective. It was thus a shock when her phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen to see an unknown number and an accompanying message. He was alive. Rage surged through her veins as their was a knock on her apartment door. With shaky hands she unlocked the latch, hoping to god it wasn't him, and opened the door. A thin man stumbled across the threshold, skin as white as snow, with short blonde hair that curled only slightly; and yet Irene Adler, Queen of disguises saw through it all. One glance at his eyes that met hers confirmed her worst nightmare, Sherlock Holmes was alive.

"Irene-" He started but was cut off by a hand connecting with the left side of his face. It hurt beyond belief, made worse by the fact he realised he deserved it too.

She's in shock and desperately tries to composing herself by turning from him, leaving him to close the door. He takes that she hasn't closed the door in his face as an invitation to cross the threshold, so he does so a little tentatively and closes the door behind him.

Irene moves through her hallway and towards the living room where the drinks cabinet lies. Sherlock isn't quick behind her, he's trying to deduce things about her from her apartment, although he's tired and a tad delirious and he fails to notice the pack of wet wipes and a plush stuffed monkey haphazardly thrown under the mahogany side table. When he arrives in the lavishly furnished living room, she's been here at least 4 months he deduces, Irene is already halfway through a glass of wine. There isn't a second glass and Sherlock senses a feeling of hostility in the air.

"I almost died Irene." He showed says, walking closer and lifting up his shirt slightly to reveal a jagged scar that started at his hip and went halfway up his stomach.

"I don't even want to ask who stitched that up." Was all she responded with, her finger extended to touch the scar and trace it, but she refrained and dropped her hand to her side. "That is an ugly scar."

"My homeless network." Sherlock shrugged.

Irene's eyes went wide and raised an eyebrow. "You let some drug addict stitch you up?"

"I could hardly go to a Hospital could I."

"When was this? You've only been been dead two months."

Sherlock didn't respond but looked her straight in the eye. The connect was immense and all of the memories of Karachi came tumbling back. Irene turned away from him, increasing the distance between them.

"I don't need to know how, although I have my suspicions, what I need to confirm is why."

Sherlock smirked, he would have loved to have heard her suspicions. "Moriaty's dead," was all he responded with.

Irene looked shocked for a moment and took a long gulp of her wine. She lowered herself into an armchair and nodded. "Good." She whispered.

"My reputation's tarnished and Moriaty's network is still active. I need to dismantle it before returning to Britain."

"So you faked your own death." Irene nodded. "Does John know?"

Sherlock shook his head briefly, glancing down at his feet. Irene's eyes widened again in surprise.

"What about darling elder brother Holmes?

"Yes." Sherlock replied. "But he doesn't know I'm here."

"I'm sure he'd be thrilled if he did know."

"I don't need his constant interference."

"So it's not that you're ashamed of me then." She purrs.

"No." He responds quietly.

"So, I presume this isn't a social call Mr Holmes. What is it that you want from me?" She tries to mask the edge to her voice and so laces it with flirtation. He's dangerously close to uncovering a secret she isn't sure she wants to share just yet.

He doesn't respond but scrutinises her from his seat on her sofa. Something is wrong. Her attention is divided.

"You're on edge, why?" Sherlock questioned.

"I'm in shock Sherlock."

"No." He shook his head. "It's more than that, you keep glancing at that door over there." He pointed to a door leading off from her living room.

Irene didn't even try to deny it, instead she merely tightened her grip on her glass- so much so that her knuckles turned white.

"So." Sherlock said standing up. "The question is, what are you hiding there?"

As if on cue, an unmistakable cry of a baby echoed throughout the apartment. Without even glancing at Sherlock, who was standing stock still in the middle of the room, Irene strode over to the door and opened it in one swift motion. A moment later, she returned, clutching a still screaming baby with unmistakable blue eyes and a mass of black hair atop his head. It wasn't a newborn, but it was no more than five or six months old.

"You have a child." Sherlock stated.

Irene smirked and rolled her eyes. "What an obvious observation," she muttered. Her eyes then suddenly darkened. "No. _We _have a child."

"No." Sherlock shook his head, despite the compelling evidence of the child in front of him.

"Nero." Irene called out. She completely dismissed him and wandered to the kitchen to get their son a bottle. "His name is Nero Hamish."

In his shock from the living room Sherlock smiled, remembering something from a better time at John's suggestion over a year ago.

"I won't be indelicate and ask you if you to hold him." Irene said matter of factly, returning minutes later to find Sherlock still stood in the same position. Nero was no longer crying, instead content with sucking on a bottle in his mother's arms.

"Why?" Sherlock whispered.

"Why what Sherlock?" Irene responded in exasperation. "Why did it happen? Well it certainly wasn't planned. Why didn't I tell you? Yes because you're totally parental material aren't you?" Her voice was malicious as she spat out the words. "I'm dead aren't you forgetting that…And actually-" Her voice softened slightly. "I was planning on seeing you, if only for your brother's help but then-" Chocking slightly she continued. "-then you jumped."

Irene manoeuvred one arm from under Nero and quickly wiped moisture from her eye. She wasn't crying yet and she would make damn sure that she wouldn't in front of him. Sherlock, for once, stayed suitably silent. After a moment of the awkward quietness that cloaked the room and when Nero's blue eyes began to flutter shut, Irene spoke again.

"You look horrendous, have a shower and then take my bed-"

Sherlock's eyes widened at the suggestion.

"Oh for god's sake Sherlock, to sleep. God know's you need it more than I do."

When Sherlock didn't respond, Irene sighed and strode over to Nero's bedroom, closing the door behind her. A moment later, she heard the front door slam shut and only then did she let the tears fully fall. She cried silently as she watched their child's little chest go up and down in his sleep and his fingers wrap around her little finger. She cried for the sentiment that caused her to feel this way, and she cried for the grief she felt upon hearing his demise, and she cried for the relief she felt for knowing he was alive.

Hours later, she entered the bathroom to find water droplets on the tiles and a damp towel thrown haphazardly onto the washbasin. In her tiredness she smiled slightly, he never had been polite, rolling her eyes she shut the door and opened the one to her bedroom next door. There, Sherlock was sleeping sprawled out on his back, much in the same way as Nero was in his cot mere metres away and for the first time in a long time Irene Adler laughed.

* * *

She awoke in the morning to Nero's door creaking. Her eyes widened and all sleep suddenly left her. She glanced up immediately from her position on the sofa to find Sherlock leaving the room.

"Are you leaving?" She asked, throwing back the blanket she'd slept under, having not wanted and not been willing to share with him.

"Yes." Sherlock responded simply. He turned to see Irene and wincing slighting; he had planned on leaving without her waking.

"Without so much as a goodbye kiss?" She flirted shamelessly

Sherlock grimaced at her as she sauntered towards him. She let her finger nails extend to his cheek, dragging them across his cheek bones. Sherlock flinched at the touch but didn't move away. They hadn't been this close to each other in a year, not since Karachi.

"You need to shave darling." Irene whispered in his ear.

"I need to go," was all he said in response, he wasn't giving in to her advances.

"You need me."  
"No."

"I've known Jim for years, you really should be the one consulting me on a case like this." Irene smiled at her own joke.

"Do not trivialise this."

She sighed and her voice quietened. "I'm not."

"Irene-"

"No Sherlock, admit it, you need me. You wouldn't have come here if you hadn't." She was right. Why was she always right.

"Yes but the child changes everything."

"His name is Nero."

"Well yes, _Nero_." He stressed the name of the child. "Changes everything. Thus, I have no wish to put an innocent child in danger."

Irene laughed. "And you honestly think he's not already in danger? I've moved four times since Karachi. I've killed six men. He is hardly safe Sherlock. He will never be safe until we end this."

"Not we-"

"To hell with you Sherlock. This isn't some noble plight of yours- it's not just John at stake here." Sherlock flinched at the mention of his flatmate, ex-flatmate. "I have to protect my son too and the only way to do that is if we work together."

"No."

It was Irene's turn to flinch. She stepped back from him as if he'd physically burnt her. With that, Sherlock strode over to the door and slipped through it, slamming the door awaking Nero and leaving Irene to tend to their child.


	2. Chapter 2: New York

**A/N Thank you for everybody's support and kind words so far**

**Disclaimer: Not mine still (sadly)**

He returns to her 2 weeks later. Blood seeping through his shirt in such large amounts she's certain this is it, that this time he really will die. He can barely make it to the sofa, much less the bed. Her cream sofa quickly becomes a dark crimson and she'll murder him tomorrow…if he survives the night that is.

Pushing her feelings aside she gets to work as he moans incoherently. She rips his shirt off, or rather what's left of it- it's already gaping open by a knife wound that's causing most of the blood. She almost contemplates taking him to the Hospital but there's no way she could explain this and it really would be a death wish to do so anyway. They'd all be dead by morning.

It was touch and go when he passed out, but she managed to stitch him up with her delicate hands that were desperately trying not to shake. She wrapped his entire torso in bandages and gave him something stronger than over the counter painkillers so he wouldn't feel the true extent of his injuries. Five cracked ribs and a deep scar that matched the one he'd turned up with last month. There were also countless cuts on his porcelain skin that marred his perfect face, but as un-aesthetically pleasing as they may be, those were not life threatening and after the few hours she'd been through, she was relieved.

The next morning she woke up with a kink in her neck from sleeping in the armchair opposite Sherlock, to find his eyes open wincing at the pain. Nero was screaming his little lungs off and Irene shrugged off the blanket she'd draped around her once she had been sure Sherlock was fine, or at least alive.

"I'll be right back." She said. "I'll get something to take the pain away- I just need to get Nero."

Irene left to tend to the child.

She returns within five minutes but Nero's still crying, sighing she leaves her son in his cot and goes into the kitchen, returning with a rather large needle. She kneels down beside him and her free hand goes to move a stray curl from his forehead, it's a moment of intimacy that wouldn't be repeated but she couldn't help herself, he looked so alone and defenceless. Sherlock stares at her and watches her look of concern that washes over her face when she feels the heat radiating from him.

"You're right Irene. I can't do this without you." He whispers to her in the moments before passing out to whatever drug she'd injected in him.

* * *

48 hours later he wakes up to an empty apartment. His mind plays a thousand scenarios and he winces at the overwhelming pain when he tries to jump up. He stumbles backwards onto the blood soaked sofa and notices the slip of paper on the coffee table.

_We__'__ve gone out to pick up some things. We__'__ll be back around 2pm- IA _

Irene returned with Nero at 14:08 and Sherlock tries to not let it show how worried he really was.

"I bought some things for you and some hair dye, you really cannot continue to go looking as you do- It's hardly discreet."

Sherlock nods and tries to sit up, Irene raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't attempt to help, instead she walks straight past him and towards the kitchen to heat up Nero's bottle before putting him down for a nap. When Irene finally returns, he's managed to turn himself around so instead of lying on the sofa he's now sitting, albeit in more pain than before. Irene rolls her eyes at him and snaps. "Shower. Now."

She helps him undress and undo his bandages, trying not to wince at the sight of the blueness of his skin. She washes him just like she bathes Nero. He tries desperately not to scream at the pain as the soapy water stings on his 'cuts'. The water around them swirls dark crimson and brown, a mixture of dried blood and mud. She moves the sponge across his back and down his legs, across his calfs. Her movements and actions could be considered to be sensual but this was not the moment, and she was too disgusted with the state of his mauled body to even contemplate sex. No. This wasn't sexual, but it was intimate. It was a testament to their unspoken affections for one another that she was doing this and he was allowing her. In the shower, in that moment both of their defences were down and they allowed one another to see them for what they were. There was no pretence of love but yet no denial of affection. Sentiment was thickly laced in the steam that surrounded them. So caught up in her thoughts, Irene's hands accidentally brushed against his upper thigh and Sherlock winced and automatically grabbed her wrist. She looks up surprised and a little taken aback, she turned to leave the shower but he didn't let go of her wrist, instead he pulled her closer to him, their naked bodies almost touching, and he proceeded to kiss her forehead, shocking them both at the affection he was showing. An unspoken 'Thank You' is whispered in the air. They stay there for a moment longer, under the shower before she breaks the moment, unwilling for any more defences to come tumbling down and anymore tension to build on top of the mountain they've already made. She turns the shower off and opens the class door of the shower, leaving Sherlock to compose himself.

"Dry yourself off and I'll redo your bandages." Irene purposely doesn't offer to dry him and he nods understandingly.

Sherlock tries to dry himself, but bending down hurts and he can't realistically dry his back when he can barely raise his arms. Irene notices but does nothing but dry herself, leaving the bathroom for her own room to get dressed. She returns quickly and without a word begins to dry his body. He's too embarrassed to say thank you now but she understands that. Once she's finished she leads him to her room and gives him another drug that's far stronger than anything legal here. She couldn't bare to increase the tension between the two of them if she was doing this whilst he was awake.

* * *

Within a week he's bounding around the apartment. She's managed to dispose of the sofa and ordered a leather replacement, so as to avoid future stains. So in the interim, for the last week both Sherlock and Irene have been forced to share her bed, Sherlock wouldn't normally sleep, but he was weak and recovering and Irene had drugged him so much, that more often than not his eyelids fluttered involuntarily closed. Despite this arrangement, both were careful to keep distance between them, a distance that merely enhanced the tension. Neither could avoid the fact that they shared a son, Nero was clearly the product of both Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes and the apartment wasn't large enough nor sound proof enough for Sherlock to forget that fact. Nonetheless, neither had spoken about it since he had initially arrived, in fact they'd barely spoken at all. He was an insufferable patient and Irene gave up tending to him quite quickly, he wasn't going to die and she wasn't patient enough to play 'doctor', if he wanted to hurt himself with strenuous activity she was not going to stop him. At least by not forcing him to rest he became less bored, as he could busy himself with trying to dismantle the American side to Moriaty's network.

Irene doesn't intrude or suggest anything, merely steps over the pieces of paper strewn around the living room. She plays the passive aggressive when he leaves maps all over the kitchen table when she wants to eat, or takes a shower at three in the morning and leaves his towel on the floor and lights on everywhere. She used to have a Nanny for Nero and a cleaner, but Sherlock had changed everything. Although this was New York, the story of Sherlock Holmes had crossed the Atlantic and she knew he couldn't be afford to be recognised. She wouldn't have put up with such rude behaviour if it had been anybody but him, her affections for him despite his behaviour meant she did not want to put him in any more serious harm. She couldn't take that risk of losing him again. However her patience ends when she finds Neo, their six month old son with a piece of paper in his mouth and a pen lid in a hand. She proceeds to lose it with the detective,  
"I know you don't care about your son, but honestly he could have chocked Sherlock." Her voice is sharp and louder than usual.

She's standing over him with the pen lid and the now torn and wet sheet of paper as he's hunched over a map of the east coast of the US.  
"Which side did he eat? Is that the contact's number?"

Irene's face tightened as it became suddenly apparent all Sherlock cared about was himself. "Get out," she said simply.

"What?" Sherlock looked confused. "It's not my fault he ate it, you shouldn't have let him near this."

"So it's my fault then?" She questioned. "Because this is not Baker Street Mr Holmes, you are staying in my apartment and you cannot do whatever you want here. There is a child living here, who just so happens to be _your _child too and regardless of whether or not you want to face up to that fact you need to start being aware that your actions have consequences." Her words are laced with double meaning and he winces at her tone. "Get out." She repeats.

Personally, Sherlock still can't comprehend what he's done so wrong for her to act like this but he gets up and leaves anyway without a word. He still slams the front door as he leaves though and Irene sighs as Nero cries again, not having like the noise both of his parents have made. She's beginning to regret allowing Sherlock to stay here, it's been causing too much hassle and far too much tension and she doesn't think she can bare to see him ignore the fact that they have a child any longer.

Irene remembers the day she found out she was pregnant. It was 4 months after Karachi and she was living in LA. She'd always been very aware of her body, it came with the trade, but ever since Karachi she'd been prone to cover up (a feat hard to do in the LA sunshine), she'd even self-diagnosed herself with depression. It had been that that had urged her to go to LA in the first place, perhaps the sunshine was all that she would need. It wasn't. She'd not been surprised that she was pregnant, since being exiled from England she'd been erratically taking the pill, she just kept forgetting in all of the confusion and all of the constant fleeing from place to place. What she is surprised at is how long it had taken her to realise, there'd been no morning sickness and no weird cravings. In the shower she just stood under the shower head and tried not to touch herself too much with soap, as touching herself meant realising that her scars were real and that Karachi really happened and that she really was in exile. She'd always been skinny and her bump was not large at all, it was only hard and rounded slightly as if she was bloated. She noticed when she accidentally caught herself in the mirror whilst she was undressing for the shower. Irene had tried helplessly to suck it in but to no avail, it was clear she was pregnant. It took her three more days before she did anything about it however, before she went to the store and bought a pregnancy test. It was wasted money and only confirmed her fears. She had always been a confident independent woman, children had never been on her mind, she'd never wanted to be tied down by such messy little creatures. She was selfish in her desires and did not want to share her time or resources with another being. Irene knew she'd get rid of it and she arranged an appointment for the following afternoon.

But it wasn't as easy as that, as the screaming child now in front of her testified to. Irene sighs and tries to console the boy in her arms, this is the times she wished Sherlock hadn't appeared and she still had a Nanny to do this kind of thing. Nero doesn't want a cuddle, his nappy's still dry and he doesn't want a bottle. She wants to scream herself and lose all sense of control. But she can't. Instead she moves to the bathroom and starts drawing a bath in her porcelain Victorian's styled tub.

Nero calms quite quickly once he's in the water. Irene holds him tightly as the water deepens slightly but he doesn't mind. He nestles into her chest after a while of splashing and giggling with his mother. Never in a million years would Irene Adler ever believe she would be doing this, but she is and she can't help but smile. She's not a natural mother, no, but it's not as scary a prospect as it was all those months ago when she'd first found out. She hears the front door open signalling Sherlock's return, he must've taken her keys then. Irene doesn't get out, she's still prolonging seeing him, but when the bath begins to get cold and Nero begins to snore on her chest she realises she just needs to get it over and done with. She dries Nero without waking him, and after dressing she exits the room to the living room. Irene is pleasantly surprised to find all of the papers that had previously littered her room had been tidied up. There's still a map of the East Coast pinned to her immaculate wallpapered wall and a stack of mugshots on the desk below but she'll allow him that, he's been thoughtful enough to tidy for her and she smiles slightly. The tension between them is still there, to be broken down in a spectacular fashion another day, but for the moment it's bearable.


	3. Chapter 3: New York to Mexico City

**Chapter Three: New York to Mexico City**

**A/N I****'****m so sorry this is really short, there****'****s supposed to be an extra 500 words but I****'****ve lost it and only vaguely remember what I wrote! So sorry! If I find it, I****'****ll add it here. Thank you to everybody that****'****s read/reviewed this story so far I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it definitely gets better in the next chapter where the tension definitely explodes****…**

**Disclaimer: No sadly its not mine. **

The child was annoying. He hadn't stopped screaming since Irene had left them in order to talk to her contacts. This was Sherlock's first time alone with the child and it hadn't been through choice, but Irene had stayed up the majority of the night with him trying to work out a plan of action to destroy the web. He'd been wary of sharing everything with her, but he'd come here for a reason and even if he didn't want to admit it, Sherlock needed her help. Irene had unfortunately been a great help, they'd achieved more in the 8 hours they'd been up than in the past 8 days he'd been there. They truly did complement one another and she came up with ideas that he wouldn't have even contemplated, her inside knowledge had had also helped tremendously and Sherlock was forced to realise that he would never have been able to achieve this without her. He strangely admired her ability to fight her fatigue and juggle both trying to compose a plan to destroy Moriaty's web and care for the child when it woke up, it still wasn't sleeping through the night he noted.

Whereas, Sherlock had never even considered becoming a parent and despite the fact it was now being thrust upon him he was not welcoming it with open arms. In theory it would be a fantastic opportunity to delve into the depths of hereditary traits, to work out whose genes Nero had for which features. That was in theory, if the child would shut up for once. Sherlock even contemplated texting Irene, but shopped himself before pressing send; texting her would be admitting defeat and even mundane games must be won against the woman. How hard could it really be? The boy after all was half him. In the past week, despite his apparent disinterest in the boy, he'd watched Irene care for the child and deal with his screams. If she could do it, so could he.

However it continued to scream, even when Sherlock picked it up, patted it awkwardly and jammed a luke warm bottle in its mouth. The bottle fell out almost immediately, dropping to the cream carpet with a thud. Almost as if on cue, Sherlock's phone notified him of a new message:

_He__'__s a screamer. Like father like son._

Sherlock rolled his eyes and read on.

_Take him outside if he__'__s not settling, there__'__s a stroller in the closet by the door. - IA_

So that was how he, Sherlock Holmes, came to be pushing a stroller through a New York City park on his first outing with his son. Nero had settled down and stopped screaming after the first block, thank goodness. Although Sherlock was almost unrecognisable to the infamous detective (what with his now much longer blonde hair) and although he doubted many New Yorkers would even know of him, Sherlock still made an effort with his diguise. Today he was a nervous but incredibly proud new father and despite his innate annoyance of constantly being stopped by cooing women, he acted very much in character by smiling and embracing their comments.

They'd been in the park for no more than half an hour however when Sherlock's suspicions were confirmed. He most definitely had a tail. Steering the stroller in the direction of a large group of other parents and Nanny's, Sherlock tried to deduce who they were. There were two business-like clad men, that were seemingly just two Wall Streeters on the way to a meeting, but they'd also been stalking Sherlock for at least 3 blocks before he'd entered the park. They could have been Mycroft's agents, sent to keep a watchful eye on him, but he'd definitely evaded them back in London and anyway they'd be searching for a single man, not a man with a child. One of the men in a Burberry trench coat shifted slightly and Sherlock was able to see when glancing to his left that the man was carrying a firearm. The longer Sherlock stayed in public, the longer he could prolong confrontation with these men and Sherlock hurried out of the park's East entrance. He joined the crowds of native New Yorkers and tourists and headed north, although he didn't know New York half as well as he did London he had some knowledge of the city. He turned slightly after the second block in order to establish whether or not he had lost the tail, but he hadn't. If Sherlock hadn't had this child with him, he would have already confronted the men, but even if he didn't feel any attachment to this child, he also did not wish the innocent being to get hurt.

Sherlock pulls his phone out, if he had suddenly encountered a tail then it was equally feasible that so had Irene.

_I have a tail. 2 men. Moriaty__'__s? - SH_

He continued pushing the stroller but quickened his pace, crossing the road with a large group of tourists, increasing the gap between him and his tail. Sherlock had just made the split decision to enter a department store when his phone buzzed in his hands.

_Me too. Its the NY network. Can you get rid of them? -IA_

_Of course. - SH_

_Meet me at JFK in 2 hours. -IA_

He had no idea what Irene's plan was, but he had no option but to follow it and hope for the best. She was after all very accomplished in this area.

Sherlock manoeuvred the stroller further into the store, but kept an eye on the door to see if their pursuers entered. He wanted them to follow, as in a way it would be easier to deal with them in a quite area of the store than in the middle of a New York street, however just as Sherlock noticed one of them enter, Nero let out a cry. Sherlock swore loud enough to encounter stares from nearby shoppers. This was not going to plan in the slightest.

* * *

He notices her almost immediately as she enters the airport. She's wearing a disguise, a vacationing mother in a sunhat and white dress, he'll be her businessman husband of course. She doesn't visibly look like Irene Adler what with recently dyed red hair worn down and dressed in such summery clothes, but Sherlock knows her and he could recognise her and her body anywhere.

"They won't be following us anymore." Irene says as she approaches.

She wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek to retain their new cover as a married couple. Sherlock flinches as her soft lips touched his skin but smiles nonetheless, trying to retain their apparent new cover.

"What about my plans?"

"I put them into action dear, it was already collapsing without Jim, we underestimated that completely. I just gave it the final push."

"Completely?" Sherlock asked.

"He didn't like the Americans so much, its one of the smaller parts of his web as it was only concentrated to New York, DC and Miami."

"Yes we already established that fact."

Irene rolled her eyes at his impatience. "The New York ring is dismantled, the ringleaders dead, it was a pleasure to put a bullet to McCormac's head to tell you the truth. There's enough evidence for the FBI to do the rest."

"You got them involved?" Sherlock panicked slightly.

"God no, but they'll join the dots, I left a paper trail that even the ditziest of agents would be able to comprehend."

Sherlock nodded, secretly impressed. "How many dead?"

"Six." She said simply. "I realised I had a tail after I met with my contact, I decided to bring the dance with the devil forward a few hours but apparently thugs don't like it when you take out the head of their local crime organisation so there were still two on me when I got back to the apartment, they had to die of course."

Irene was direct with her actions and although it wasn't a method that Sherlock would have always chosen, it was of course effective.

Sherlock nodded at her in silent approval.

"What happened to your tail?" Irene asked.

"There were two in Bryant Park, they followed me into a department store. One's dead in the changing room,

The other died trying to chase me across the road, got hit by a taxi, it was fatal." Sherlock adds.

He noticed she had two large suitcases with her and it was evident as she chose to now direct her attention to the baby that she was not going to reveal their next location unless he asked.

"Where are we going?" He sighed, giving in.

"I booked us flights and a hotel for Mexico City. That was where we agreed we were to go to next was it not?" Irene questioned, leaning down to touch their son in his stroller.

Sherlock pressed his lips together and nodded. "Yes, he appears to have a large network and influence in the drugs trade. It will be dangerous." He adds with a smirk.

"Good."

Irene fished in her bag and withdrew three documents, she handed him one of them without checking. He turned the blue passport over in his hands, American of course. It had five stamps in it, from a honeymoon in Italy, business in London, Dublin and Madrid and a vacation to Cuba. Sherlock skimmed the empty pages to find the page with his name (now Edward Lynch) and a picture he hadn't realised Irene had taken on it, it was doctored he thought, although the passports were definitely authentic. He wondered briefly when she'd had the time to get them developed, but he'd barely paid attention to her in the last week and she'd had lots of time to do so. She'd known he'd invite her with him though, although he was still yet to formally do so. Sherlock smirked at her presumptuousness.

* * *

The plane ride was bearable, Sherlock usually spent flights mentally deducing things about the other passengers, however that was a feat harder to achieve when there was a baby that constantly needed entertaining and had a tendency to cry. He'd started out in the aisle seat but as Irene needed to get up every so often to change Nero or to get his bottle that he ended up in the middle seat, in between Irene with the baby and an older woman, divorced and apparently did not like having a baby so close to her. He couldn't really see the other passengers from his new seat and so he too became quickly bored. Two hours into their five hour flight, Nero began to settle, to the delight of everybody on the plane and particularly Sherlock who found he could not concentrate with a screaming baby in his left ear. Irene finally sighed in relief as the boy's breathing evened out on her chest. She was just not cut out to be a mother, nothing came easy to her and everything took far longer than it would have done for other mothers.

"Why did you keep the child?" Sherlock asked.

The question took Irene by surprise and she really could have done with out it. She brought her free hand up to rub her temples slightly, she was quiet for such a long time Sherlock was sure she was ignoring his question.

"I wasn't going to at first." Irene sighed again but continued. "I walked to the abortion clinic four times, the fourth I even got prepped for surgery, but I couldn't do it. _Sentiment.__" _She spat at him. "It was _sentiment._ I knew I was never going to see you again, my entire life had been turned upside down. I was a fugitive, for the rest of my life I would have to live in exile, I could never return to my old life and that scared me. But this baby, Nero, he was like a gateway to the past. He was my only connection to my old life and to you." Her voice trailed off, she couldn't believe she had shared so much, but quite frankly she was exhausted and it no longer mattered anymore.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect-" Sherlock began but she interrupted him.

"-seen in the losing side." Irene finished for him with a snarl. "You've already said that and you've already been proved right." She turns away from him and they don't speak for the rest of the flight. The tension surrounding them increases.


	4. Chapter 4: Mexico City

**A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with this! It means a lot; I know its not the best of stories but I****'****m trying and I really wanted to go with this slight twist on the presumably Adlock canon during the hiatus. This chapter is M rated. **

**Disclaimer: Sadly ****'****Sherlock****' ****isn****'****t mine**

* * *

"The hotel has a nanny service, we'll be free to our business whilst Nero is cared for." Irene spoke to him for the first time when they were sitting in the taxi she'd ditched the pretence of happy families ever since their coarse words and Sherlock had been left to carry their large amount of luggage, thanks to a certain baby, through the airport. Sherlock nodded in recognition and the icy silence envoured them once more.

It was evening when they arrived at their hotel, five stars in keeping with their disguise but more family friendly than the Ritz. Their suite had two bedrooms and an adjacent living area, fairly large and definitely expensive. As soon as they arrived, Sherlock left Irene to feed and change Nero before putting him to bed. He's still not sure how he feels about having a child and he certainly doesn't want to be involved with it anymore than is necessary.

"What now?" She asked as she closed Nero's door behind her an hour later.

"We take them out together." Sherlock said, grimacing at his final word.

She smiled at his choice of words. "_He_." She was referring to the child. "Still doesn't sleep through the night, but I think we have at the least two or three hours. Enough time to make you beg for mercy, twice." She whispered in his ear from behind him, her head resting on his shoulder and one of her hands reaching around his torso to play with the buttons on his shirt. Something had changed, he thought, for her to have changed moods so quickly, but then again she always was one to surprise him.

"I don't beg for mercy."

"I think we both know that's not quite true now don't we Mr Holmes?" There's a smirk on her lips and although he can't see it he can almost feel it. Memories of their night in Karachi comes flooding back and Sherlock feels something shift inside of him.

Her breath his hot on his neck and he feels the tension that's been evident in the week since he'd turned up at her door again begin to climax. He moves his hand to grasp her wrist, the one thats toying with his buttons, he feels her pulse, it's beating just as fast as his own. She smirks against his neck again as she realises what he's doing. He can hardly talk though, his own pulse is beating fast underneath her own fingers. Sherlock turns suddenly and there's a moment of hesitation, where the tension heightens and their eyes lock, he moves his head forward and catches her lips quickly before he can talk himself out of it. It surprises her and it takes a moment before she opens her mouth and gives him access to her. He hasn't kissed anybody else other than her, not properly at least, but he doubts anybody else could ever compare to the Woman. It's been nearly 18 months since Karachi, since the night they first had sex and oh god she's missed this. As soon as their lips part, he attacks her neck causing her to purr in pleasure, she rakes her fingers through his now blonde curls and he growls in appreciation against her skin.

There's suddenly too much clothing and not enough exposed skin. He continues to suck on her neck, knowing full well where the blood vessels are to draw the most amount of blood to the surface, to make a very visible mark on her come morning. She moves one of her hands from his head and gently pushes him backwards towards the bed, he stumbles slightly and nips her neck, causing her to purr once more in pleasure. When Sherlock feels the bed connect with the back of his legs he makes a decision and turns so that as they fall, she's underneath him. Irene smiles and pulls him closer, kissing him stronger than before, grasping his lip between her teeth as he goes to pull away for air. He's still very new at all of this and so he lets her take the lead as she expertly begins to undo his shirt buttons, all the while not moving her lips from his. He shrugs the white shirt off and stares at her for a moment as they draw breath. His attraction to her was not initially sexual, although she was naked on their first meeting and although he was full aware that in the eyes of society she was beautiful. He was attracted to her mind and her ability to evade his deductions, he enjoyed the games they were able to play with one another that others couldn't. She was and always would be _the woman. _In Karachi, everything changed, they were alone and with nobody to interrupt and intrude they'd spent the night together, trying to heal each other's scars in a game that was very similar to the game of words they'd played previously, the only difference now was that it was physical. He'd tried to learn everything he could from her porcelain skin, he'd documented every scar and every mole on her body and filed it in his mind palace.

His hands go up her dress that was now bunched up at her waist, she gasps, surprising them both with her lack of self control when his his cold hands connect with her hips. He smirks and begins lifting the material further up, Irene moves to sit up, allowing for Sherlock to pull the garment completely off of her and as soon as it's thrown haphazardly to the floor his mouth is on the newly exposed flesh. He hadn't been the best she'd ever had, but he was a fast learner and he responded quickly to Irene's moans, aware that if his tongue danced across the surface of her more sensitive skin her eyes would widen and her breath would quicken. When she felt she was far too close, he teased her by circling her flesh with his tongue one last time before drawing up to kiss her sloppily on the mouth. She didn't care that she could taste herself on him, in fact she found it even more arousing as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling them closer to one another so every part of their body was touching. Sherlock groaned as she moved her hips as she brushed against him before pressing against him slightly, forcing him onto his back. Now back in her natural state of dominance, as even sex for them is a game, Irene allowed his hands to brace against her hips, helping her to position herself over him. She leans down to grasp his bottom lip between her teeth as he enters her and they both feel fire run through their veins as he begins to thrust.

Later, in the post-coital bliss that didn't escape the duo, Sherlock ran his fingers across her stomach, rubbing light circles into her skin. It was an intimate move and they both knew he wouldn't have done it in the light of day. But in the darkness of their hotel, they were just two dead spektors and when one is dead, anything goes.

* * *

Irene wakes up to Nero's screams a few hours later to find Sherlock's arm is draped on her bare stomach, he's lying unusually close to her and she can feel his breath on her neck. Irene usually hates actually sleeping with people, much preferring her own space, particularly after sex and although this isn't awful, it's not what she wants either. However, once she's sorted Nero she doesn't want to slip back in to bed, but she's exhausted and so does so anyway, against her better judgement. Despite trying to maximise the distance between herself and Sherlock, when she awakes once more in the early morning, she finds herself back in his embrace. She tries to pry herself from his grasp, not wanting him to rise whilst they're in such a compromisingly intimate position. However, as she tries to slip out from his arms he stirs and she freezes still facing him. He's aware, immediately as he gains consciousness that Irene is in his arms, he doesn't need to open his eyes to test it. He can feel the softness of her skin, can smell her hair thats beginning to irritate his nose; but he opens his eyes anyway and instantly regrets it. Irene is most definitely there and they most definitely had sex. Instantaneously, Sherlock shifts himself, so he's further away from her in the bed they shared untangling his arms and legs from her. They don't talk about it, not that she'd expected nor wanted to, and Irene was certain that the tension that had surrounded them for so long was beginning to return. It would quickly become the elephant in the room and Irene groaned, sex was supposed to have rid them of the tension, not create more of it. He doesn't look at her or utter a single word as he slips out of their shared bed and towards to adjacent bathroom. She leaves to tend to their son

There's two more hours of tension until there's a knock on their suite and the Nanny arrives, breaking the awkward silence that has blanketed their room. The Nanny is young, mid-20s, member of a big family and all her wages go back to support them; Sherlock deduces from the woman that enters the room. She stays for half an hour and Sherlock and Irene are forced very much unwillingly to don their disguises and act the happy very much in love young couple.

"My name's Marie and I'll be looking after your son- Nero?" She questions the pronunciation of their son's name and Irene nods with a smile.

"Yes Nero, we thought it was quirky, didn't we darling?" Irene turns to Sherlock lovingly and he responds with a "Yes it's very quaint."

"Very cute," Marie added. "I'll watch Nero during the day and evening whilst you two relax. Where abouts are you from?"

"Boston." Sherlock says without missing a beat.

"I've heard its a lovely city."

"Oh it is, very family friendly." Irene adds. "We couldn't have asked for a nicer city to raise a family in."

After a few more minutes of conversation about their fictitious backstory, Irene introduced Marie to Nero, who happily welcomed the small boy in her arms. Nero took a while to warm up to the new woman, he was as wary around new people as his father was, however after a while it became apparent that there wouldn't be any major issues with the transition. Irene sighed in relief as she gathered Nero's things, they were now free to dismantle Moriaty's network in peace.

* * *

Irene can feel the tension rise once more as she closes the suite door behind Marie and Nero. The woman is ladened with Nero's bags and equipment but neither Irene nor Sherlock offered to help. Irene presses her forehead to the wood of the suite door, sighing with the unfortunateness of the situation.

"Was it better than before?" Sherlock asks.

Irene whirls round in surprise that he's so close. She raises an eyebrow, not understanding his question.

"Better than Karachi?"

It takes her another second to work out what he's referring to, but she joins the dots eventually and smirks at him and his question, but doesn't respond.

"I don't recollect, perhaps we should test it again?"

Sherlock smiles at her, a genuine smile that she's never seen before. He's so different now that he's dead, she thinks. If he'd been alive Sherlock definitely wouldn't have done what he did next, which was to grasp her wrists and pin them above her head whilst bending down and capturing her lips with his. She's surprised by his boldness and the fact that he initiates it, but it's pleasant and she enjoys it. The tension that had threatened to resurface diminishes in seconds as he begins to press his entire body against her, trapping her between him and the doorway. It's more hungry and desperate than their previous evening's activities and she's stripped down to her underwear within minutes. There's nothing slow and sensual about this time. She's shocked by his aggression, on the way he forcibly tugs down the zipper on her dress and pulls it off of her body. She shouldn't be surprised, not really, this was Sherlock Holmes after all, and he never seized to amaze her.


End file.
